Karen May Songs, Art & Poetry
A Sense That It Will Be Alright

A Sense That It Will Be Alright

A Thursday afternoon in June,
The Sun shines through a whispering cloud.
The pastel petals proudly bloom,
The musical of life sings loud.

My skin is warm and winters' thorn,
Is but a faded, passing thought.
As all of love and life is born,
By what was earned, not what was bought.

Then all the woes that this life throws,
Melt gently in such loving light.
And all that matters, sings and grows,
A sense that it will be alright.

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